


The Sense of Touch

by t_3po



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pining Spock, Post-Star Trek Beyond, The City on the Edge of Forever reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_3po/pseuds/t_3po
Summary: Spock wants.What he wants: for Jim to touch him like he’s Human.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GubraithianFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GubraithianFire/gifts).



> A fic I wrote for Rei where Spock wants to be Held

Spock is ten-years-old when his mother hugs him for the last time.

  
It doesn’t feel any different from her previous hugs. She wraps her arms around him tightly, tucking his head underneath her chin so his face is pressed in the crook of her neck. His mother doesn’t wear any artificial fragrance because it isn’t a necessity in Vulcan, but over the natural salty-sweet smell of her skin, Spock can smell the spices she used when she cooked breakfast for him. The hug lasts for 11.2 seconds, a few milliseconds longer than her previous hugs. She touches his face, her mouth forming a smile, then wishes him good luck. 

  
He succeeds in completing his _kahs-wan_ the first time he does it. His father congratulates him and gifts him with a lyre. His mother first feeds him then cleans his wounds and only after she’s made sure that he’s in good health does she congratulate him, offering him the same close-lipped smile she’d given him before he entered The Forge. 

  
She doesn’t hug him anymore after that, and although Spock had known that he would never feel his mother’s arms around him again once he took the test, he regrets that he hadn’t even savored it.   


* * *

  
  
Spock craves physical contact.   


It embarrasses him because he’s a Vulcan and he shouldn’t want to be touched. It goes against everything he learned, goes against Surak’s teachings, and every time he thinks about it, it makes him feel like he should never have passed his _kahs-wan_ . This longing is a weakness and were he to tell his people about it, he’d be shunned even more than he already is. Vulcans do not touch.   


But Spock is half-Human.   


He wants someone to wrap their arms around him, wants a shoulder to tuck his face in, wants someone to wrap around him so tightly that there isn’t a sliver of space between them. His longing isn’t sexual in nature; what he wants most is to feel that there’s someone who won’t be afraid to get close to him. His skin hungers for contact.   


Spock does nothing to feed it.   


He keeps the longing at bay and it’s easy because even when people do touch him—a hand on his shoulder, an arm accidentally brushing his, a hand on his elbow to steady him—their touch never feels right. So Spock keeps his desire a secret because there’s no logic in telling anyone about it if it’s never even going to happen. He keeps his shields up, learning to strengthen his walls over the years so that the longing never seeps out.   


* * *

  
  
And then, he meets Jim Kirk.

 

* * *

   
Humans aren’t afraid to express their emotions. It’s the first thing Spock learned when he came to Earth for the first time. His mother _had_ adjusted to Vulcan culture, despite the Vulcan council’s constant criticisms of her behavior. Her smiles, her laughter—they were all muted compared to what greeted Spock when he stepped out of the shuttle. Spock learns what a smile truly looks like, what a frown means, that a raised voice can either mean excitement or anger. There are some similarities, but Spock learns that Humans have different ways of expressing themselves. Every time he meets someone new, Spock memorizes their expressions, mapping them in his head the way he does with stars. 

  
Jim Kirk’s emotions, Spock learns early on, are impossible to predict. The way he expresses them is always different, like there’s too much energy in his skin and he can’t settle for just one way of showing how he feels. 

  
Spock is fascinated. 

  
Emotional expression extends to physical contact for many Humans. Jim’s one of the many. He pats crewmembers on their backs when they do something that pleases him. He likes to hook his arm around McCoy’s shoulders, pulling him down so Jim can ruffle his hair until McCoy yells at him to stop. He exchanges bone-crushing hugs with Sulu and Scotty, gentler ones with Chekov, and to Nyota he offers quick one-armed hugs. Spock, Jim doesn’t hug, always mindful of Spock’s culture, but he likes to rest his hand on Spock’s upper arm whenever he wants Spock’s attention, sometimes on his shoulder, and Spock will feel the weight of Jim’s touch for the rest of the day. 

  
Jim touches him like he isn’t afraid of him, like Spock’s hands closing around his throat hadn’t happened, like he’s actually forgiven Spock for the things he did. Jim touches him, but it isn’t enough. Every time Jim touches him, his shields waver, until finally, a crack appears, nail-thin but obviously, undeniably there. 

  
Spock wants. 

  
What he wants: for Jim to touch him like he’s Human.

* * *

 

There isn't a Vulcan word for the way he feels when he looks at Jim. It’s Nyota who offers a Standard one to Spock. She comes to him during alpha shift when Spock’s in command, Jim having been dragged off the bridge by Dr McCoy to take his physical.

 

“Shut up, and just listen to me,” she says. “ _Sir_.”

 

“I did not say anything--”

 

“It’s your face that’s doing the talking. The eyebrows,” Nyota says with an impatience that leaves no room for Spock to be offended. “What I’m trying to say is--I understand what you’re feeling.”

 

He doesn’t pretend not to know what she’s talking about. _Who_ she’s talking about. Vulcans don’t lie and Nyota knows him best.

 

“You’re pining,” she tells him, her voice soft. “Trust me, I know what it’s like. I’ve felt it before.” She tilts a wry smile at him that catches Spock off-guard. Her eyes widen at whatever she finds on his face, and she laughs.

 

“I’m not pining after you anymore, Spock,” she assures him. “I’m just saying that I’ve been there and I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Spock searches her face for any semblance of a lie but there’s none, and he’s relieved. The feeling--like he can’t breathe, like there’s an itch underneath his skin that crawls up his body whenever he looks at Jim, like it won’t stop until Jim _touches_ him--It’s not something he’d wish on anybody.

 

* * *

 

Spock looks at Jim and thinks of all the places where they would fit well together—his hands on Jim’s shoulders, Jim’s fingers splayed on the width of Spock’s ribs, their faces close, skin blood-hot against each other. He looks at Jim’s hands and thinks about their fingertips touching, looks at Jim’s psi points and wonders what his mind feels like.

 

He looks at Jim and thinks _t’hy’la._

 

He isn't the only one who looks at Jim and thinks of the possibilities of what they could be. Meeting someone who’s in love with Jim Kirk is as common as seeing a rock because Jim makes it easy.

 

He died for them, he literally died for them, and when he came back to life he still kept fighting for them, like death had somehow made him invincible. But death doesn't get the credit. The credit goes to the ship, the crew, the ones who took Jim by the hand and made him their captain.

  


“You belong at his side,” Edith Keeler says in a tone that’s almost mocking. “As if you’ve always been there and always will.” Beside him, Jim splutters, embarrassed for Spock but Spock only stands taller and looks her in the eye until the smile falls from her face.

 

He’s in love with Jim Kirk and if asked correctly, Spock won’t deny it because almost everyone is. It’s hard not to be.

 

* * *

 

In a bar in San Francisco during Scotty's birthday, Jaylah pulls up the chair beside Spock, sits astride it, then looks at him with an expression that tells Spock he ought to listen or else. There's a mace in her hand that she somehow managed to get past security. Spock sets down his drink.

 

"S'chn T'gai," she says in way of greeting. To this day, she and Nyota are the only non-Vulcans who can say his name without tripping over the syllables. 

 

She jerks her chin to the space over Spock’s shoulder. "Is James T. not yours?" Jaylah asks, confusion and anger mixing together in her voice.   


Spock does not look over his shoulder. Jim is dancing with a woman, hands touching the skin of someone who isn't him, and Spock regrets that the bar's choice of alcoholic drinks have no effect on him. He doesn't know much about Jaylah's species because Jaylah is as tight-lipped about it as he is about Vulcan culture. But from the thinly veiled anger on her face as she looks at Jim, Spock infers that the non-Human concept of mates and lifetime monogamy are ones she's familiar with.   


"Negative," Spock says and it isn't a lie. Spock is Jim’s, Jim is not Spock’s. It’s that simple and yet at the same time it’s more complicated than any problem Spock’s ever had to solve. The raised eyebrow Jaylah gives him tells him that she doesn't believe his words. 

  
"Very well S'chn T'gai," she says, dropping the mace in her hand. It lands on the table, knocking down Spock's glass. The alcohol spreads and drips down the edges of the table.   


Spock eyes the mace. "Did you intend to strike the captain with that weapon?"  


"Yes," Jaylah says matter-of-fact. "It was our custom to knock some sense in idiots."

* * *

 

It would be easier, Spock thinks, if Jim just kept his distance.

 

He still avoids touching Spock’s skin, but over the years Jim’s gotten more comfortable in touching Spock where he believes he’s allowed to touch. Spock’s shields are wavering, the cracks getting bigger whenever Jim grasps his biceps, eyes crinkling as he smiles and praises him for his brilliance. Every time, he’s brought back inside the ship from Krall’s army, Jim beside him trying to catch his breath while Spock’s heart slowed down with the fading adrenaline. Jim beside him, beaming.

 

_What would I do without you, Spock?_

 

Spock hadn’t answered but it’s in his head, taunting him whenever Jim’s hands find someone else.

 

 _You’ll move on_.

* * *

 

Starfleet prides itself in teaching students how to survive without the aid of technology. Building a fire in the primitive way is lesson number one. Sharing limited resources with your crewmates is lesson number two—food, toiletries, clothes, anything that can be shared. ("Saliva," a student in his survivalist class had said once and Spock didn't get the joke until years later, when he first considered the idea of putting his mouth over Jim’s.)

  
  
In a desert planet, Jim loses contact with the Enterprise and his Starfleet-issued tent in the span of thirty-five minutes. It's a new record, and from his peripheral vision, Spock sees a red shirt pass a credit to one of his lab assistants. Scotty manages to contact them sometime later, only to tell them that the transporter is broken and won't be fixed for another six hours.

  
  
"Guess we'll have to kip here for tonight," Jim tells the landing party who merely shrug, long used to off-ship mishaps and transporter malfunctions. "The moon is lovely. Well, moons."

  
  
There's two of them, large and full-faced against the planet's deep purple sky. "Do you mind," Jim says awkwardly, and Spock shakes his head. When it comes to Jim Kirk, when has Spock ever minded?

  
  
The inside of the tent is cramped. It's really just for one person, but somehow they're able fit themselves, even managing to keep a small gap between them. "Is this okay?" Jim asks, breath hot against Spock's face.

  
  
Jim insists that they keep the tent's window option on and Spock let's him. The tent's walls go translucent, revealing the sky above them, and Jim points at the brightest of the stars, his voice lulling Spock to sleep.

  
  
When Spock wakes, Jim is snoring beside him and only one of the moons is still up, looming over them like a great white eye.

 

* * *

 

And then, in an unexplored planet that's 90% ocean, something shoots out of the murky black water and grabs hold of Spock, dragging him down until he blacks out from lack of oxygen.

  
  
When he regains consciousness he's on the ground, his lungs aching terribly, and the captain—   


The captain is kissing him.   


Spock doesn't have time to appreciate it because his lungs are screaming at him. He pushes Jim away then heaves out salt water. He's shivering, his body temperature dangerously low. He can feel Jim’s hand resting on his back, close to where his heart is.   


"Beam up four, Scotty, and get a med team ready for Spock," Jim orders. He puts his communicator back in his pocket and then, to Spock's surprise, grabs Spock and wraps his arms around him tightly. Jim is warm against him, his cheek blood-hot where it presses against Spock's temple.   


Jim is still holding him when they're back in the ship. 

* * *

 

"I don't regret it," Jim begins. His hand is resting on the biobed, the pinky finger of his right hand a few millimeters away Spock's thumb. They've had this conversation before. The last time, there was glass between them.   


_I don't regret saving your life._

 

It wasn’t a kiss. It was just Jim, saving his life again. Spock knows this but he now has the knowledge of what Jim’s mouth feels like, and he’ll think of it again and again and again and wish that the circumstances had been different. He looks at Jim and what Spock sees on his face startles him. It’s a look he recognizes, one he sees whenever he looks in the mirror.

 

A longing.

  
"I don't regret kissing you," is what Jim says instead, stealing the breath from Spock's lungs.

* * *

 

  
The biobed bed is too small for two people. They’re close enough that Spock can see the different shades of blue in Jim’s eyes, specks of brown looking like stars in the sea of blue.

 

“How long?” asks Jim.

 

_How long have you been in love with me?_

 

But it’s not the question that Jim asks. Jim is unpredictable.

 

“How long has it been since someone last held you?”

 

A flash of a memory: the smell of spices, the ends of his mother’s scarf whipping in the wind, tickling his face. It isn’t the last time someone had hugged him, but it’s the one before he’d started wanting them.

 

“A long time.”

 

Jim slides a hand up his back, settles it between his shoulder blades and pulls him in, arms wrapping tightly around Spock until their bodies are pressed against each other, until there isn’t a sliver of space between them.


End file.
